


One Kiss Don't Make a Summer

by menel



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Developing Relationship, Dinner, First Dates, Love/Hate, M/M, Organized Crime, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Just when Frank thought things might be progressing with Red beyond fighting on rooftops or drunkenly hooking up, he wakes up one morning to an entirely different Matthew Murdock: one who doesn’t stand up for the little guy, carries a sword and has no problem killing people. As the cliché goes, you don’t miss what you’ve got until it’s gone.





	1. A Kiss is Just a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I love Matt Murderdock (otherwise known as Matt Murdock Earth-65). So I began wondering, what would it be like if he was thrown into our Frank’s world? This, apparently. 
> 
> Also, I don’t know what it is about upbeat songs and this fandom. _It doesn’t make sense._ But I never fight the muses. Whatever works. The title of this fic is from Lucky Soul and their 2008 album _The Great Unwanted_. Maybe it means this fic won't end in tragedy either.

Frank knew he was probably drinking too much. He didn’t cut loose like this, didn’t get drunk just for the sake of being shit-faced, and certainly _never_ in public. You couldn’t drop your guard like that. That was just dumb. But he was out with Red tonight, one of those extremely rare occasions that they were being themselves – or in Frank’s case as Pete Castiglione – but Red was being Matt Murdock, blind attorney. They were drinking in an absolute dive, a hellhole that put Josie’s (the bar that Murdock and his friends frequented) on a pedestal. Having come from work and dressed in a light gray suit, Murdock stuck out like a sore thumb. A pretty boy and blind to boot, he was a beacon for trouble in a sea of riff raff.

 _Blood stains wouldn’t come out of that suit_ , Frank thought idly as he downed another shot of tequila. He’d seen Red bloody on more occasions than he could count, and there was something wired in his brain wrong that he never thought the other man was hotter than when he was bruised and bleeding, but still standing on his feet. Red never stayed down. (“Murdocks get up again,” he’d once heard that nun Red visited at St. Agnes’s say. _Ain’t that the truth_ , Frank had thought. ) He wondered if their evening was going to end in a fight. It seemed likely the way Murdock was being eyed by half the male population of the bar. The female population was eying him too, but for a different reason. Who knows, Frank thought. Some of the men probably had the same reason as the women. Frank knew he did. The real question was whether he’d do something if a fight broke out or whether he’d let Murdock handle it. It turned him on, seeing Red fight. Only tonight, Red wasn’t being Red. Would he beat the living shit out of the scum in the bar as a blind man? Frank smiled at the possibility.

“Did you have to pick such a dive?” Murdock asked, turning his shot glass absently in his hand. 

Frank leaned towards the other man. This was as close as he got to flirting. They were sitting at the bar counter, Matt facing the bar while Frank faced the room, arms resting on the counter behind him as he sprawled on the bar stool. They were near enough to others that he had to keep his voice low. 

“Didn’t think looks would matter all that much to you,” he replied. 

“Asshole,” Murdock fired back, making Frank grin. “It’s the other senses that count,” he went on. “This place reeks. There’s urine on this bar top, and so much vomit and blood everywhere we might as well be in an emergency ward, except an emergency ward would be a thousand times more sanitary than this place.”

Frank did feel a little bad about that. The place didn’t smell great to him either, which meant that the stench must’ve been overwhelming for Red. 

“And the company isn’t all that friendly,” Murdock added, also dropping his voice a little lower. It wasn’t what Frank would call the ‘Devil voice,’ but it was close. 

“You can feel that, can you?” 

“Yeah, I can feel that,” Murdock said, irritated. “There are a lot of creeps here, and they’re doing a lot of leering.”

“You’re giving them plenty to leer at,” Frank said, again so very close to flirting. 

Murdock’s head shot in his direction and Frank could feel the heat of the glare beneath the red shades. 

“Relax, altar boy,” Frank told him. “You’re here with me.” 

“Oh, I’m _with_ you now?” Murdock questioned, emphasizing the ‘with.’

“If we go back to my place afterwards to fuck, yeah, I’d say you’re with me,” Frank said. Okay, so that wasn’t exactly subtle, but Frank wasn’t a subtle man. 

Murdock looked away, and while Frank wouldn’t describe the look on the other man’s face as a grimace, it was a near enough relative. It was a look that said, _What am I doing here with you?_

Frank often wondered the same thing.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and touching Murdock’s elbow. He kept his hand there, his grip light but insistent. It was an unusual gesture for him, and Murdock turned back in his direction, his gaze landing on Frank’s hand as though he were looking at it. In a way, he was. 

“We can leave,” Frank said gently. 

“So we can go back to your place and fuck?” 

Murdock was still peeved. Frank couldn’t blame him. 

“I was thinking more fresh air,” he said lightly. “Maybe a late night stroll.” 

“In this lovely neighborhood?” Murdock said, but the derision wasn’t so heavy in his voice. Frank knew he was winning the stubborn son-of-a-bitch over. 

“It beats the bar,” he replied. 

Murdock looked up. With the red-tinted glasses on, Frank could almost pretend that Murdock was looking at him; the other man’s line of sight was that accurate.

“Almost anything beats this bar,” Murdock noted, sounding less aggravated. 

“Then let’s get out of here,” Frank said. He pushed off the counter, still gripping Murdock’s elbow lightly. 

Murdock leaned over the bar top slightly, timing the action so that he caught the bartender’s attention. He signaled for their bill and stood up as well. “It’s my turn,” he told Frank.

Murdock probably thought Frank didn’t care about those kinds of details, but he did. Frank kept track of who paid and where; what Murdock liked to drink depending on his mood or the location. They didn’t go to the same place twice. Frank was a stickler for detail, and that was before the military had hardwired that into him. He watched as Murdock took out his wallet, ran his thumb over the corners of the bills to double-check them and then pulled out the right amount when the bartender came back with the tab. With the bill taken care of, Murdock turned to face Frank again, and the hand Frank had on Murdock’s elbow dropped lower so that it fell on the small of the other man’s back. He gave Murdock a slight nudge, and for once the other man didn’t resist, stepping closer to Frank so that he was in Frank’s personal space. Frank’s voice was so soft when he spoke that he might as well have been whispering. There was no hope of anyone else hearing him except the man beside him. 

“You are _with_ me, you know. I don’t know why or when you’ll come to your senses,” Frank admitted. “But I’m glad you are.”

He felt his cheeks warm slightly at the confession, and knew that the reaction wasn’t just from the alcohol he’d drunk. He’d never been so direct before about something that wasn’t lewd or simply another tactic to rile his companion. Man, he really _had_ drunk too much. 

Murdock dipped his head, a gesture Frank recognized as the other man thinking. There was the faintest smile on Murdock’s face – soft around the edges in contrast to the hard, sharp lines of the Devil – when he said: 

“I’ll come to my senses in the morning.”

Frank laughed outright at that, another thing he rarely did anymore. He leaned forward slightly, his hand still at the small of Murdock’s back and it was all he could do to stop himself from kissing the other man, public displays of affection be damned. Increasingly, he’d thought a lot about kissing Murdock, because while they’d blown each other and fucked among other things, kissing – on the mouth, anyway – was off-limits. There was a part of Frank that understood why. It meant that kissing for Murdock meant the same thing that it did to him, and it would confirm that what was going on between them was more than just being fuck buddies. Frank was fairly certain they’d gone through the hate-sex stage (hell, he doubted it’d ever been hate-sex for him, but it was better to let Murdock think that…probably) and were firmly in fuck buddy territory. Eventually, he thought they could upgrade to friends-with-benefits; might actually be able to get Murdock to think of him as a _friend_ instead of just a fuck. It was funny how words worked like that, how meaning could change with emphasis. ‘Fuck buddy’ emphasized ‘fuck,’ but Frank felt that ‘friends-with-benefits’ emphasized the friendship. Some days, Frank wanted to skip all those steps and go straight to ‘lovers’ but that would be waaay too much of a leap for Murdock; it’d send the other man running for the hills. Frank knew how to play the long game. He could be patient, just like the Devil.

They were about to leave when their path was blocked by a giant skinhead, backed up by a couple of his buddies. _Neo-Nazis_ , Frank thought tracking the tattoos on their arms.

“Fucking fags,” the skinhead sneered, burly arms crossed in front of his chest. “Why you gotta come here and ruin a nice place with your filth?” 

“Why you gotta be an asshole?” Frank sighed. The chances of getting out of the bar without a fight had just shrunk…considerably. Before he could move, Matt placed his arm in front of Frank’s chest. 

“Our apologies,” Matt said politely. “I missed the sign saying ‘No fags allowed,’ being blind and all.” 

Frank bit back a laugh. Matt playing the blind card with this dickhead was hilarious. And totally _not_ going to work, but he knew that the Devil was counting on that.

For a moment, the skinhead looked like he didn’t know what to do. He’d probably been too slow to notice that Matt was blind, despite the whole sunglasses-indoors and the cane that Matt was holding. He recovered after a few agonizing seconds. 

“Yeah well, I’m _tellin’_ you about it _now_ ,” he said menacingly, stepping closer toward them. 

Frank wanted to reach out and smash the guy’s face against the bar top. He was near enough to do it. Followed by a kick in the groin. Big, dumb guys like that tended to go down easy. Next to him, Matt actually began to laugh. That was how Frank knew they were in for a fight. 

The skinhead didn’t take well to being laughed at. The swing he took at them seemed to come in slow motion. If Frank thought it was slow, he couldn’t imagine what it must’ve felt like to Red’s super senses. Matt moved out of the way effortlessly and Frank reached forward, using the guy’s momentum to grab him by the neck and smash his face against the bar top as he’d imagined. He didn’t get a chance to apply the kick to the groin though, since Matt had turned his foldable cane into a weapon and struck it across the skinhead’s lower back. The blow had the same effect as the kick to the groin would’ve (though less painful, Frank thought ruefully), as the skinhead crumpled to the dirty floor. 

Matt faced the skinhead’s compatriots, his stance and body language saying, _Who’s next?_

The five remaining guys exchanged glances. All other activity in the bar had stopped. Their little stand off had become the focus of attention. Whatever hesitation the five guys had at hitting a blind man evaporated. They charged at Matt and Frank. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw the sharp smile on Red’s face; he felt his own body respond as he faced their attackers. 

Nothing like a good bar fight to get the blood going.

* * * * *

They burst into the street and the crisp night air. The bar fight was still going relatively strong, but the cops were on the way. Matt had heard the sirens five or six blocks away, and the police radio scanner giving the bar’s location. It was time to go. They’d left the bar looking like a saloon in the Wild West. The Neo Nazis had just been an excuse for everyone to get involved. In a place like that, everyone was spoiling for a fight, and the Punisher and Daredevil weren’t about to disappoint, even if it was supposed to be their off night.

Outside on the quiet street, Matt was forgoing his cane. It was still folded like a baton (or one of his billy clubs) in his hand, the white now stained with blood. There was no point in him playing blind, not after the fight they’d just been through. Besides, no one would be able to tell in the poorly lit street anyway. 

Frank breathed in the cool night air. It had the bite of early autumn. He remembered his earlier suggestion for an evening stroll (a late night/early morning stroll now) and wondered if Murdock would still be inclined. They were only two blocks away from his one-bedroom rat hole, as Murdock liked to call it, but it was later than he’d anticipated and they both had work in the morning. It felt strange to be holding down a proper day job, but Frank was managing. He knew Red usually got home even later than this when he was out on his regular patrol, and honestly, Frank wasn’t sure how the other man did it. How could Murdock be Daredevil at night and a practicing lawyer by day? The man must’ve been running on fumes. And now he’d just left a bar fight with Frank instead of fighting crime or being with his friends. Frank knew for a fact that Murdock had had dinner with Nelson and Karen Page, but instead of joining them for drinks like he normally would’ve, he’d met Frank instead. That meant something, right? Frank just wasn’t sure what. He wondered what Murdock had told his friends (if he’d told them anything at all) or if he’d just let them think he was suiting up. They were both aware of his nightly activities.

Murdock fell into step beside him, his foldable cane now tucked into an inner pocket of his jacket. By unspoken agreement, they were heading in the direction of Frank’s place. 

Frank was a booty call. He could come to terms with it. He _should_ come to terms with it. It was the only explanation Frank could come up with for why Murdock would blow off his friends to meet him. It was a backhanded compliment, he supposed, though an odd one since he figured Murdock could have anyone he wanted for a booty call – Nelson and Page included. Women (and men) always seemed to be falling all over themselves around him, and that was _before_ Murdock played the wounded duck card. Maybe Murdock thought Frank was the safe choice – no strings attached. Ha!

“Hey,” Murdock said suddenly, into the silence of the night. “You all right?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Frank asked, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. 

“You’re quiet,” Murdock observed. 

“Because I’m so loquacious the rest of the time?” Frank retorted. 

Matt chuckled, but he sounded contemplative when he said, “It’s a different kind of quiet, Frank.” 

_The pensive kind_ , Frank thought but didn’t say aloud. 

“Hey,” Murdock said again, and this time the statement was accompanied by a hand on Frank’s arm.

Frank stopped, and Murdock stopped beside him. He glanced at the other man a little warily, wondering if Murdock could pick that up. Chemical changes in the body, patterns of breathing, pulse and heart rate – yeah, Murdock could pick that up. 

Murdock didn’t drop his hand when he said, “You wanna call it a night?” 

Frank was startled by the question. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked, the surprise coming out in his voice. 

Murdock titled his head, appraising the other man. “You don’t seem to be in the mood,” he admitted.

Frank thought about brushing that off with a lewd joke but Murdock would see right through it, and Frank _loathed_ being caught in a lie by the other man. Strictly speaking, Murdock had it wrong. Frank was in the mood (he’d never turn down an opportunity to get Red in the sack), he was just in the mood for a _different_ sort of sex. The catch was he didn’t know how to get that across to the other man, or whether Matt would even be interested. His gaze dropped to where Matt was still holding his arm. 

“I am in the mood,” he said softly. 

“But?” Matt pressed. 

_Damn Red and those heightened senses._

“But nothing,” Frank lied.

Matt released his arm and Frank almost reached for him just to maintain some kind of contact between them. He saw how Matt’s lips turned downward. Great. Talk about killing the mood. 

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted out, before his brain could catch up to his mouth to remind him what a terrible idea that was. 

Matt’s surprise was palpable. “Why?” he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. 

Frank let out an exasperated sigh. “Geezus, Red,” he said. “If I have to explain that to you…”

The frown on the other man’s face vanished to be replaced by a half smirk. “You sure know how to ambush someone, Castle,” Matt replied, head bent…considering. 

Frank could feel his pulse quickening. Matt hadn’t actually said ‘no,’ had he? It gave Frank hope. He waited the other man out, took in the night air and the cool breeze. When Matt lifted his face, Frank knew what his answer was.


	2. Which Reality is This?

Frank woke up alone. He wasn’t surprised. In all the times he and Red had slept together, neither one of them had spent the night, no matter whose place they were at. He was a little disappointed however, when he didn’t find a note from the other man. It was a habit Red had developed of late, leaving smartass notes in places where Frank would least expect to find them. He figured Red would have atrocious writing (what blind person could write? Then again, what blind person was like Matt Murdock?), but Murdock wrote in neat block print; not quite childlike, but with deep impressions on the page and deliberate strokes. Frank thought they’d made progress last night – the encounter had _felt_ different – but not finding a note from Red this morning almost seemed like a step backwards.

 _Stop over-analyzing_ , Frank scolded himself. That was Micro’s job. Maybe Red had been in a rush. Maybe he’d been late for court. Maybe there was a note, but Frank hadn’t stumbled upon it yet. 

Maybe he was over-analyzing…again. 

Frank stomped his way through his morning routine, and then headed to work himself. He spent his day tearing down walls at the construction site. The work was brainless, but that was part of the reason he enjoyed it. In the beginning, destroying things had been a great outlet, a way to release his rage and pent-up energy. Now the swinging action of the mallet was repetitive, monotonous; it allowed his mind to drift away. It also made his body ache. Frank enjoyed the physical labor. It made him feel productive, like he was doing something instead of just sitting around. Who needed a therapist when you could just break shit up? 

Everything was going along normally until he got back to his studio unit. From the moment he opened the door, Frank knew that something was wrong. He was certain of it when he found himself pinned against the wall with a sword at his throat. The man holding said sword smoothly shut and lock the front door beside Frank with his free hand, the grip on his sword never wavering. Frank thought his eyes might pop out of his head with disbelief. This whole situation was absurd.

“Red?” he groused, thinking Murdock might have finally snapped. Maybe that ‘one bad day’ had happened after all. 

“Red?” Murdock repeated in surprise. He tilted his head in a way that was somewhat familiar, but also…off, somehow…to Frank. “ _Interesting_.” 

What? Murdock was talking like he’d never heard the name ‘Red’ before.

“Murdock, what’re you –” Frank began. He tried to move forward, but found himself slammed with such force against the wall again that his breath was knocked out of him. The sword was at his throat, digging deeper now. Frank felt the sting as it pierced his skin, leaving in its wake a thin trail of blood. 

Murdock was not fucking around. What the hell had gotten into him? And why did he have a _sword_? 

“Castle, yes?” Murdock stated in a clipped, clinical tone. “It’s Frank Castle.”

Frank suddenly grew preternaturally still. Murdock’s tone, Murdock’s actions – everything about him was _off_. For the first time, Frank really examined the other man and he could see the differences – some subtle, others not so much. Murdock _looked_ different. Starting with the other man’s face, Frank noticed that he’d never seen Matt wear those glasses before. They were red-tinted like the others, but this pair looked…expensive. Even Murdock’s _hair_ was different. Not only was it styled ( _styled!_ ), but it was also a slightly different shade, a brighter shade of auburn rather than the usually darker tone that Frank was used to. His eyes traveled lower. The suit Murdock was wearing was impeccable. Bespoke, cut from the smoothest silk. It probably cost more than Murdock made in a month. Then there was the sword at Frank’s throat. It was a finely made weapon. Lethal. The Murdock he knew would never carry a sword. A weapon like that was only good for one thing, and that was the one thing Murdock would never do. 

“You’re not Matt Murdock,” Frank stated calmly. 

Not-Murdock let out a slow smile. Frank could see the Devil in it. It was terrifying to think what the Devil could do in this stranger’s body…and also kinda hot. Frank quickly banished that thought. So. Not. Appropriate. This wasn’t the Red he knew, and his life was in real danger.

“Oh, but I _am_ Matt Murdock,” the stranger said, in a voice so seductive and smooth that Frank could immediately feel his body responding to the tone. “Just not the Matt Murdock _you_ know.” Not-Murdock suddenly pressed a knee to Frank’s groin, coaxing the growing hardness there even as he kept the sword poised at Frank’s throat. “Though judging by your body’s reaction,” he said in that same silky tone, leaning forward to whisper in Frank’s ear. “It hasn’t gotten the memo yet.” 

Just as suddenly, Frank was released. He caught himself before he fell forward, silently cursing not-Murdock’s super reflexes and the way that his body had betrayed him. He’d been in the man’s company for less than five minutes, but he had to assume that this Murdock was every bit the skilled fighter that his Murdock was, and that this man possessed the same freaky senses. It was not an ideal situation. 

“Who the hell are you then?” Frank barked.

Not-Murdock stood perfectly composed before him, hands resting on his…Frank realized with shock that the sword that had been at his throat was actually not-Murdock’s _cane_. Fuck. 

“Not the right question,” not-Murdock said, reverting to his clinical tone. “The right question is, ‘Which reality is this?’” 

Frank absolutely could not wrap his head around that question, but he didn’t have to since Not-Murdock kept talking. 

“Unfortunately for me, I woke up in your bed this morning, which really does make me question my choices. But nevertheless, you’re all I have to go on at the moment.” Not-Murdock paused, the clinical tone evaporated and was replaced with a smile as bright as sunshine. “Dinner?” he suggested. “My treat.” He gestured vaguely around him. “You don’t seem like you could afford a decent meal. But please, change first. Something with a jacket and tie. There’s a dress code.”

Frank was staring at the other man dumbfounded. His utterly normal day had turned into _The Twilight Zone_ the moment he’d gotten home and there wasn’t any sign of it letting up. What reality was _he_ living in again? 

Not-Murdock clucked. “Let’s go, Castle,” he said. “I’m hungry.” 

“I don’t have a tie,” Frank finally said, when he found his voice again. 

Not-Murdock’s lips turned downward. It was the look of disappointment that was disturbingly familiar to Frank. “Ah, well,” not-Murdock said. “The restaurant can provide something for you.” 

And that was that.

Frank next found himself in the unusual situation of showering and changing while not-Murdock sat at the foot of his bed and waited for him. He almost felt like he was getting ready for a date that was…not a date. Certainly not with Matt Murdock’s doppelganger…from another reality? Yeah, Frank still couldn’t wrap his head around that one, even if not-Murdock seemed to be taking that part shockingly well. 

Frank was also hyper-aware of not-Murdock’s heightened senses in a way that he could usually let slide around Red. The thin wall separating the bathroom and the main studio unit was nothing for those heightened senses. Not-Murdock was picking everything around him apart (Frank included), and it bothered Frank that the other man could learn so much about him when he knew next to nothing about the stranger aside from the obvious. Somehow, he didn’t think Not-Murdock would be very forthcoming about his own history. 

Frank dried himself with a bath towel, but didn’t bother to wrap it around his waist when he stepped out of the bathroom. Not-Murdock might not be able to see him in the traditional sense, but he could tell by the half-smile on the other man’s face that not-Murdock was tracking him around the room. Frank wasn’t sure if his nakedness was meant to be a kind of provocation to his companion, but he knew what it meant to him. He didn’t want not-Murdock to think he was cowed or intimidated by him. He wasn’t. He was just…a little unsettled. And possibly a little horny. Why hadn’t his body gotten the memo yet? 

“Shall we?” not-Murdock said when Frank had finished dressing. He uncoiled himself elegantly from where he sat on the bed. 

Frank nodded curtly, knowing there was a grimace plastered across his face.

* * * * *

The restaurant not-Murdock brought them to was in midtown, a ritzy place that Frank would not have stepped foot in on pain of death (or unless he was planning to blow some sleazebag mobsters away). The crowd was upscale, the ambiance snooty. Frank felt out of place immediately in his worn jacket and scuffed shoes, but not-Murdock waltzed right in like he belonged (and he looked like it, too). Even without a reservation and a long waiting list, not-Murdock managed to get them a good table in record time. Frank had watched as the other man had dialed up his charm to a thousand, even calling the hostess by her name. How not-Murdock knew that detail was beyond him. Maybe not-Murdock was psychic to go with those freaky senses. At this point, Frank wouldn’t put anything past the other man.

Before they were seated, not-Murdock had asked for a tie, which the hostess had provided. Not-Murdock had grasped Frank’s arm and pulled them to the side, making an elaborate show of placing the tie around Frank’s neck and then methodically tying an intricate double-knot as though Frank were his date. (Perhaps Frank was. Who the fuck knew anything anymore?) He stepped closer than was necessary, purposely invading Frank’s personal space. Frank felt assaulted by the nearness of him, but he held his ground. The sharp smile across not-Murdock’s features told Frank that his body was betraying him again in some way; not-Murdock could smell the faintest of chemical and biological changes. God, Frank _hated_ being at a disadvantage. When he was done, not-Murdock brushed his hand down the front of Frank’s jacket, tilting his head as though he were listening for something. Then he tapped Frank’s chest lightly and proclaimed, “Let’s eat.”

At the table, Frank scanned the menu listlessly. The prices were way out of his range, but not-Murdock looked like he could afford this place. Beside him, the hostess was reading out the names and descriptions of select items at not-Murdock’s request. Frank rolled his eyes as he watched them, his own menu already discarded on the table. The hostess was completely smitten. Tending to guests after seating them was no longer her responsibility, but she was showing not-Murdock special favor. Frank had never seen Red use his charms so openly before. It was another reminder that the man sitting across from him was not _his_ Murdock. 

“Frank, are you allergic to anything?” not-Murdock asked, tearing his attention away from the hostess. 

“Shellfish,” Frank replied sourly.

“Ah, no lobster for him then,” not-Murdock said, making the hostess titter by his side. He addressed Frank once more. “Do you mind if I order for you?” 

“Have at it, Red,” Frank said, slumping a bit more in his seat. It was going to be a _long_ evening. 

Not-Murdock seemed to appraise him for a moment, before he turned back to the hostess and rattled off their order complete with an expensive bottle of wine. 

“Why do you call me that?” not-Murdock asked after the hostess had left. “Red?” 

Frank took a gulp of water before replying. “It was the color you were wearing when we first met,” he said. If his Murdock was a human lie detector, then this one probably was too. Lying would do him no good. 

Not-Murdock chuckled. “How very original,” he commented.

The sommelier appeared, bearing the wine that not-Murdock had ordered. Frank watched with his arms crossed as the other man went through the process of tasting the wine. Not-Murdock was so at ease in this environment. It was jarring. Frank already missed their regular diner with its linoleum floor and peeling leatherette seats. 

When the sommelier poured his wine, Frank snatched the glass and downed the red liquid in one go. The man was appalled. In front of him, not-Murdock chuckled again. Frank put his glass back down and gestured to the sommelier for a refill. The man glared at him, but did as instructed. Then he turned to not-Murdock and said graciously, “If that will be all, sir?” 

“Yes, thank you,” not-Murdock replied. He leaned back in his seat, a knowing smile on his face as the sommelier left. 

Once again, Frank could feel the other man’s senses picking him apart. Sometimes, he thought it was worse than if Red were just looking at him – right now being a case in point. 

“You’re a bit of a boor, Castle,” not-Murdock finally said. “Just like the Castle of my world. Maybe that’s what my alternate self finds attractive in you. You do possess a sort of…rough charm.” 

Frank leaned forward, his interest piqued. “The Castle of your world?” he repeated. 

“Surprised?” 

Frank thought about it. “Guess not,” he admitted. “What’s he like? The Castle of your world?”

“His name is _Captain_ Frank Castle of the NYPD,” not-Murdock said, enjoying Frank’s reaction. “He’s the head of the Special Crimes Task Force. Former marine. Former mercenary for Tony Stark.” Not-Murdock leaned forward as well, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “He’s supposed to be one of the good guys, but I know he’s as brutal as they come.” He smiled the devil’s smile. “Tell me, Frank. Are you a good guy in this world?” 

Frank shifted a little uncomfortably as he sat back in his seat. 

“No,” not-Murdock said with a self-satisfied smile. “I didn’t think so.” He sat back as well and sipped his wine. 

Frank drummed his fingers across his thigh. He was itching for the smoothness of cold steel. “How’d you know that hostess’s name?” he asked. “You psychic as well?” 

“An educated guess,” not-Murdock replied. “I frequent this restaurant in my world. It’s almost like a kind of…headquarters. I recognized her. She wore the same perfume.” 

“Yeah, and I bet yer banging her too,” Frank said, a little derisively. 

“From time to time, yes,” not-Murdock said honestly. “She’s adventurous in bed. Likes to be tied up. Choked.” 

Frank nearly choked on his wine at that answer. Not-Murdock’s smile sliced that little bit sharper at Frank’s reaction. 

“Ah, so _we_ don’t do that in bed,” he surmised. “How _interesting_.”

“That the kind of thing you like?” Frank pushed, aggravated at himself and all his tells. 

“Asphyxiation has its charms.” 

And really, Frank should _not_ have found that statement so hot. He took a deep breath. “This is a pretty fancy place,” he commented, “to be a headquarters of sorts. You must be successful in your world.” 

“I manage,” not-Murdock replied, his tone dripping with false modesty. “But that brings us to why we’re here. Since you’re about to tell me a horror story, Castle, I don’t see why we have to be in horrific surroundings to hear it.” 

“And what’s this horror story ‘m supposed to tell you?”

“Why, what _this_ world is like, of course. Who I am here, who you are, what our _relationship_ is. And then when that’s all sorted out, you’re going to help me find a way to get back to my world because it’s plain to me that you want _your_ Matt Murdock back.” 

Frank gritted his teeth. Everything not-Murdock just said made sense to him. He definitely wanted his Murdock back and if that meant helping this smug asshole… 

The first course was served and Frank began to tell Matt Murdock’s story...

* * * * *

“ _Franklin Nelson_?” not-Murdock repeated incredulously. “Franklin Nelson is my _law partner_?”

“Not just your law partner,” Frank said, spearing his chocolate dessert. He normally didn’t go for the sweet stuff, but this dish was something else. Now he understood why some people called chocolate ‘divine.’ “He’s more like your…” Frank searched for the right phrase. “Platonic life partner,” he said. “You guys went to law school together. Columbia, I think. Been inseparable ever since.” 

Not-Murdock began to laugh, long and hard. For some reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, Frank found this upsetting. Not-Murdock wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes with his hand. “That’s the funniest thing you’ve said so far,” he admitted.

“What? You and Nelson aren’t law partners in your world?” 

“Law partners?” not-Murdock scoffed. “We’re not even friends. Nelson is the District Attorney where I come from. Righteous and a little soft. Well meaning, but wrapped up in politics.” 

“What about you? You still a lawyer?” 

“I’m in the private sector.” 

“Figures,” Frank muttered. How else would not-Murdock be able to regularly afford this ritzy restaurant? It depressed him to think that not-Murdock was some soulless corporate shark. He crossed off another difference between not-Murdock and his Murdock. He wanted _his_ Murdock back.

“You and Nelson mostly do pro bono work,” Frank continued, his voice a little flat. “Your biggest case was taking down Wilson Fisk,” he added. “Twice.” He didn’t add that their second biggest case had been his own. Maybe they wouldn’t get there…tonight, at least. 

There was no reaction from not-Murdock and Frank found _that_ interesting. 

“I see,” not-Murdock eventually said. “And I take it that Wilson Fisk is also the Kingpin of crime in this world?” 

“I guess some things don’t change,” Frank replied. 

“Indeed,” Murdock agreed. “Are you finished with that?”

Frank looked down at his plate. He actually had finished that sinful dessert. Not-Murdock didn’t wait for his answer before he signaled for the check. Frank had to grudgingly admit that the meal had been perfect, right down to the wine selection. Not-Murdock was a gourmet snob. 

He thought their evening was over, but outside on the street not-Murdock hailed a cab and gestured for Frank to get inside. 

“Where to?” the cabbie asked them. 

“Frank,” not-Murdock said much too casually. “What’s my address?” 

Frank glowered at the other man, trusting that not-Murdock’s senses could feel the heat of his gaze. Then he rattled off _his_ Murdock’s address.

* * * * *

The cab deposited them in front of Red’s building. Frank couldn’t help the furtive glance he cast in not-Murdock’s direction. This was definitely not the sort of place the smug bastard was used to. Truth be told, Frank had always liked Red’s loft. Even the lurid billboard outside Red’s windows gave the place character. Washed in colors of violet or red or whatever ad the billboard was depicting, Frank was always reminded of _Blade Runner_ whenever he was there.

“I don’t suppose you have a key?” not-Murdock asked him. 

“It’s not that kind of relationship,” Frank retorted. 

“But you wish it were,” not-Murdock said.

For maybe the tenth time that night, Frank had to curb the urge to hit something – preferably the smug bastard’s face. It infuriated him that not-Murdock could read him so well. Was he really some kind of open book to those heightened senses? And if he was, it also begged the question of how well _his_ Murdock could read him. Because if not-Murdock could figure all this shit out in a few hours…

“Follow me,” Frank said with a sigh. 

There were no smart remarks from the other man as Frank brought them to the front door. The timing was remarkable as another resident came out, a middle-aged woman who instantly recognized not-Murdock. 

“Good evening, Mr. Murdock,” she said politely. “Good day in court?” 

“Very good, ma’am,” not-Murdock said graciously. “You have a good night.” 

“Same to you, Mr. Murdock,” she said, also giving Frank a quick nod. 

Frank led the way to Red’s apartment. The building was an old walk-up and Frank was grateful for the exercise. Dinner had been too decadent. When he stopped outside Red’s door, he caught not-Murdock’s amused smile. 

“Are you going to break it down?” the other man asked.

“Couldn’t you just pick your own lock?” Frank immediately retorted. In truth, he had been about to point out the rooftop access when not-Murdock suddenly grabbed his arm. It was a warning and Frank’s fight or flight response kicked in. 

Not-Murdock’s voice was low when he spoke ( _the Devil voice_ , Frank thought). “There’s someone inside. Pacing. Agitated.” He tilted his head. If he heard other details, he opted not to share them with Frank. “Do I have a roommate?” 

“It’s probably Nelson,” Frank surmised, also keeping his voice quiet. “Your platonic life partner has a key.” So did Karen, but Frank didn’t mention that. “You didn’t go in to work today, right?” 

Not-Murdock shook his head. 

“And you didn’t check in with Nelson or anyone else from your office.” 

“I wouldn’t have known to do that,” not-Murdock said a little derisively. “Much less how to contact anybody from my ‘firm.’”

“That explains why Nelson’s here. He’s probably been worried to death about you all day, probably been trying to contact you too. Wouldn’t surprise me if he phoned every hospital in the area asking about a blind man.” 

“And why would Nelson be automatically so concerned for my health?” 

Frank shrugged. “Prob’ly ‘cos of your nightly activities.”

“My nightly activities?” not-Murdock repeated, amused. “Castle,” he chastised. “You’ve been holding out on me.” 

“I was gonna tell you about it later,” Frank said. “When we had more privacy. It’s a lot to take in.” 

“You mean more than waking up in a different reality?” 

Well, when he put it that way… 

“I suppose you don’t have to break down the door after all,” not-Murdock continued. Before Frank could stop him, the other man had rapped loudly on his own door. 

Even without heightened senses, there was no mistaking the hurried steps that came down the entrance hallway and then the door was being flung open. Nelson appeared, looking as frazzled as Frank had ever seen him.

“Matt!” he cried in sheer relief. “Oh my god, Matt! Matt, _where have you been_?” 

Nelson’s words came out in a jumbled rush, and it didn’t help that he crushed not-Murdock in a bear hug as he spoke them. Frank stood behind the pair, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. 

“I’ve been going crazy looking for you,” Nelson said, almost sobbing. “And Karen called all the emergency rooms. We asked Claire to keep a look out for you in case you turned up. Why haven’t you answered your phone? We didn’t know what happened after you left us last night –” 

“Foggy. Foggy, I’m sorry,” not-Murdock said, so convincingly that Frank almost forgot that the other man wasn’t Red. (And how did he know that Nelson’s nickname was Foggy? Frank had never called Nelson that.) “I didn’t mean to worry you…or Karen. Let’s step inside.”

Not-Murdock gently pushed the other man back into the apartment and Nelson went willingly. Frank followed behind, shutting the door. He didn’t think Nelson had even registered his presence yet. 

“I’m so sorry, Foggy,” not-Murdock was saying again. “I know I should’ve called, but I lost my phone and it’s just been a _crazy_ twenty-four hours.”

“Dammit, Matt,” Nelson said, still agitated. 

Beneath that agitation Frank could hear the relief in the other man’s voice. No doubt not-Murdock could hear it as well. 

“You can’t just disappear like that,” Nelson went on, gesticulating. Frank knew the type. Nelson was someone who talked with his hands, especially when he was worked up. “We _worry_ about you. What if something had happened? How would we know? Do you expect us to just wait until you’re plastered all over the news? Masked vigilante Daredevil found dead?” 

Frank winced. Yeah, that was the part he hadn’t gotten around to telling not-Murdock about.

“Foggy,” not-Murdock said in the best placating voice Frank had heard so far. “I’m fine. Really, I am. Frank’s been looking after me.” 

“Frank?” Nelson repeated, puzzled. He looked in the direction not-Murdock gestured and started in surprise, seeing Frank for the first time. “Frank…Castle?” The hysteria was creeping back into his voice. “You’ve been with _Frank Castle_? Are you working with _The Punisher_?!” 

Now there was a tone that Frank recognized. It was a tone that said Foggy Nelson couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of Matt Murdock working with Frank Castle. Willingly. Much like how Frank was trying to deal with the concept of an alternate-reality Matt Murdock. Privately, Frank was also impressed with how not-Murdock was taking everything in stride. 

“You could say that,” not-Murdock hedged. “I met up with Frank last night.” ( _That wasn’t a lie_ , Frank noted.) “And things got a little complicated.” (That wasn’t a lie either.) “We’re working through it.” (Again, not a lie.) 

“Oh god, are you two _partners_ now?” Nelson groaned. “How does that even work?” 

“It doesn’t,” Frank said flatly. “And it’s temporary.” 

“You know what?” Nelson said, arms raised as though he had come to a conclusion. “I don’t want to know,” he declared. “It’s plausible deniability. Just…just… don't tell me what you two are up to. And don’t get killed. And try not to kill anyone. That was for you,” he added, gesturing a little viciously in Frank’s direction. “Matt,” he said, focusing on his best friend. “I can see you have a lot of shit going on at the moment – you _always_ have a lot of shit going on – but we have court in the morning. The Ferretti deposition is at nine o’clock. Okay, buddy? Can you make that?”

“Nine o’clock,” not-Murdock obediently repeated. “Got it.” 

“Okay, good.” Nelson took a deep breath. He seemed to have calmed down, enough at least to finally notice not-Murdock’s stylish suit. “Why are you so fancy?” he asked. 

“It’s part of the project Frank and I are working on,” not-Murdock answered smoothly. 

“To infiltrate a crime family?” Nelson joked. 

When neither Frank nor not-Murdock responded, Nelson coughed. “Right,” he said. “I’m going to go now. Good to know you’re not bleeding out in some alleyway, buddy. Stop scaring us like this. I’ll see you in the morning, all right?” He paused. “Uh…later, Frank.”

“Let me walk you out,” not-Murdock offered. “Thanks Foggy, for checking up on me.” 

“That’s what friends do, Matt,” Nelson replied. “Call Karen, okay?” 

“Will do,” not-Murdock said. 

Frank missed the rest of the conversation as their voices faded down the hallway. He went to the kitchen and pulled out Red’s coffee container. He needed caffeine. Seeing Nelson had made him antsy. Matt’s law partner slash best friend had crystalized all the complicated practicalities of dealing with an alternate reality Matt Murdock. What the fuck was the play here? Frank didn’t even know where to begin. He was just filling the coffeemaker with water when not-Murdock came back. 

“Karen?” not-Murdock questioned. 

“Karen Page.” 

“The porn star?” 

“What? No!”

Frank wanted to hit something again. Instead, he took another deep breath before saying, “She works with you and Nelson. You’re all really close friends, all right? Karen’s your…investigator? Paralegal? Nelson, Murdock and Page?” 

“Is that all I should know?” 

Frank hesitated. “Karen carries a torch for you,” he finally said, thinking that he was probably giving not-Murdock too much power with that information. “Did? Does?” he added. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t lying. 

“And how do I feel about her?” 

Frank was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Feelings and shit, especially _his_ Murdock’s feelings and shit, was not a good topic.

“I don’t know,” he said, not even trying to hide his exasperation. “You two tried dating before, but then shit happened. Nelson wasn’t wrong, y’know, when he said you have a lot of shit going on. You _always_ have a lot of shit going on,” Frank repeated. 

To Frank’s surprise, not-Murdock began to laugh. “Then I guess today is just par for the course,” he observed. 

“That was some real fancy acting you did back there,” Frank pointed out. “How did you know to call Nelson ‘Foggy’?” 

“Another educated guess,” not-Murdock replied. “Foggy is the mayor’s nickname for him where I come from. Since you said we were best friends here…” Not-Murdock trailed off, finally beginning to survey his surroundings. “You’re making yourself at home,” he noted. 

Frank let that comment slide. He kept his gaze trained on the coffeemaker when he asked, “You want one?” 

“I want a good fuck,” not-Murdock replied. “But I guess that can wait.” 

Frank glared at the other man. If that smug shit thought Frank was going to sleep with him… 

He poured two mugs of coffee and brought them over to the table where not-Murdock had settled. 

“So,” the other man said, accepting his mug. “Daredevil?” 

Frank inwardly sighed, taking a long gulp before answering. “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” he confirmed. “That’s your alter ego.” 

“And what does this alter ego do?” 

“Fight crime. Protect the city.” It felt strange to Frank to say those words out loud. How surreal that he had to explain Daredevil to… _not_ -Matthew-fucking-Murdock. “A regular superhero,” he threw in, just to spite the other man.

Not-Murdock smiled the devil’s smile again. “This just keeps getting better and better,” he said, highly amused. “I know I have considerable skills, but in this world I use those skills to fight crime…as a vigilante.” He paused, still smiling. “Do I have a superhero costume too?” he teased.

Frank motioned to the closet underneath the metal staircase that led to the roof. He knew that not-Murdock’s senses could track the movement, that not-Murdock had already mapped the layout of the apartment. “There’s a chest in there where you keep the suit and your weapons,” he explained.

Not-Murdock stood up. Frank watched as the other man walked to the closet and pulled open its double doors. The chest sat in the closet’s center. Frank always thought it was a shit hiding place. Anyone could literally find the suit if they made the effort to look. That, of course, presumed that anyone would even consider a _blind man_ to be Daredevil. Red’s blindness was his greatest ally when it came to keeping his secret identity safe. Not-Murdock crouched on the floor and opened the chest. Frank couldn’t see what the other man was doing, but he could guess.

“This material is fascinating,” not-Murdock said, obviously impressed. “Lightweight. But the fibers are very strong. Flexible. Would allow for a lot of mobility.” 

Frank was used to Red’s fancy kicks and flips – all that martial arts kung fu. Flexible was right. “It’s tough,” he agreed. “It’ll even stop a bullet, so long as it’s not point blank range. The black parts give the most protection. They’d stop a knife.” 

“And I suppose you know that from personal experience?” 

Frank half-grunted in response. 

“Is the rest of the suit red?” 

Frank didn’t even deign that question with a reply. Not-Murdock was putting the pieces together. He continued to drink his coffee while not-Murdock examined the rest of the contents of the chest. After about five minutes, not-Murdock closed the chest and then the closet. He walked back to the table, but didn’t sit down.

“You also earned the nickname The Punisher in my world,” not-Murdock stated. “When you were one of Stark’s mercenaries.” He leaned forward, hands braced on the back of his chair. “You don’t have to tell me what you did to get that nickname here,” he added. “I can imagine. As I said before, the Castle I know is a brutal man. Older than you, though. More experienced. I might fuck _with_ him, but I definitely wouldn’t fuck him.” Not-Murdock tilted his head. “You, on the other hand…” 

Frank couldn’t help himself. He laughed at the insinuation. “You’re confident, I’ll give you that,” he said. When not-Murdock didn’t say anything, Frank’s amusement faded away. “You can’t be serious.” 

“A nice meal, decent conversation, a cup of coffee? That was a regular date, Castle,” not-Murdock said.

Frank was startled to realize that yeah…when phrased like that, it _did_ sound an awful lot like a date. Not-Murdock had taken him out on an honest-to-god date when he could barely get _his_ Murdock to have a drink with him. 

Not-Murdock leaned forward again, dropping his voice to a register that always had an effect on Frank. 

“Why else are you still here?”

* * * * *

Just the night before, Frank had reminded himself that he wouldn’t waste any opportunity to get Red in the sack. Apparently, that sentiment also applied to alternate versions of Matthew Murdock because his body still hadn’t received the memo that his brain had quickly accepted. Not-Murdock was a douche – a smug, insufferable, arrogant douche. One that happened to possess all the fighting skills and super senses that his Murdock possessed.

And he might have a better ass.

Frank tested that theory as he squeezed those globes with his hands, helping not-Murdock roll his hips against him, rubbing their cocks against each other. The friction was glorious. So was the lean, muscular body on top of him; it was every bit as toned but not as scarred, as the body Frank was familiar with. Frank could almost imagine that it was _his_ Murdock in bed with him, but that illusion was shattered when not-Murdock brought their lips together. Frank balked at the kiss, instinctively turning his head away.

“We don’t,” he half-gasped. “We don’t do that.” 

Not-Murdock stilled, bracing himself on either side of Frank’s body. “No?” he questioned. 

_Amused_ , Frank thought with irritation. Why was not-Murdock so easily amused? 

“No,” Frank said firmly. This was one concession he wasn’t going to give the other man. 

“Well, then,” not-Murdock hummed. “Perhaps I’ll just kiss you somewhere else.” 

Frank almost rolled his eyes. What kind of cheesy line was that? As not-Murdock moved down his body, Frank was still unprepared by the wet heat that suddenly enveloped him. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

Frank’s hips automatically thrust upwards, but not-Murdock pinned him down. 

“Fuck,” Frank muttered. 

Maybe he could teach his Murdock to do that with his tongue.


	3. The New Boss

Frank woke up alone. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, except this time he was in Red’s bed. Since he and Red never spent the night, one of them always had to endure the walk of shame. For Murdock, this wasn’t a problem. Those stealthy ninja skills of his meant that he crept out of Frank’s place without so much as disturbing the bed sheets. For Frank, on the other hand, the walk of shame was particularly torturous. He didn’t for one second believe that a guy who could hear a conversation ten blocks away didn’t wake up the moment he put his foot down on the floor. Perhaps once or twice, Murdock had been too sacked out to wake up when Frank had left, but Frank was certain that the other man feigned sleep the rest of the time to give Frank the illusion of dignity. It wasn’t possible that Murdock wouldn’t rouse as Frank dressed or moved around the loft. No matter how quiet Frank tried to be, every sound must’ve been magnified to the nth degree to Red. What would’ve been the almost silent rustle of clothes against skin could’ve sounded like grating sandpaper to Murdock’s hyper senses. And yet, not once had Murdock ever told Frank to stay. _Things would’ve been different_ , Frank had often thought, _if Murdock had asked him to stay…_

Or if Frank had had the courage to stay.

This time, Frank was a little relieved that not-Murdock wasn’t in bed with him. He wasn’t thinking of the walk of shame (he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about _that_ ), but he simply didn’t want to deal with the other man. They hadn’t discussed any sort of plan on how to get not-Murdock back to his reality (and hopefully bring _his_ Murdock back to where he belonged), but Frank was still coming to terms with the situation. Anyway, not-Murdock could get hold of him easily enough. Frank hadn’t actually _agreed_ to help the other man either, but he supposed that was understood. He got out of bed and quickly began to dress, making no effort to keep his actions quiet. Not-Murdock wouldn’t care, wherever he was (and Frank certainly didn’t care either).

Unfortunately for Frank, when he slid open the doors to the bedroom, he was greeted by an unexpected sight. Not-Murdock was at the dining table with Matt’s open laptop in front of him, fingers running over Braille text, while papers and folders cluttered the table around him. Frank glanced at his watch. It was a little past 4am. 

_What the fuck was he doing?_

Frank took a deep breath and steeled himself for the encounter. There was no way of getting around the other man. He stepped outside the bedroom and made his way toward the table. 

“Not staying the night?” not-Murdock asked, just as Frank reached him. 

“We don’t do that,” Frank replied. 

“Hmm…” not-Murdock said, fingers never stopping their motion. “Lots of rules you two have…” 

Frank was expecting the other man to continue with a smarmy remark, but when not-Murdock didn’t say anything, Frank grew a little uncomfortable. 

“What’re you doin’?” he finally asked.

“You heard Foggy,” not-Murdock explained. “I have a deposition at 9am.” He tilted his head in Frank’s direction. “I'm actually a good lawyer,” he said. “And it appears that my counterpart is as well. His notes are very thorough.” 

Frank found himself relieved that not-Murdock was bringing himself up-to-speed on Matt’s case. He’d honestly expected the other man to wing it later that morning, assuming he’d turn up at all. He could’ve lied to Nelson earlier, simply saying what the other man wanted to hear in order to get rid of him. Not-Murdock’s actions brought to the forefront something Frank had been wondering about, and now was probably the best time to talk to not-Murdock about it. 

“Listen,” he began. “If I’m gonna help you get back to wherever you’re from, we gotta lay some ground rules.” 

“Rules, rules, rules,” not-Murdock said, sounding wholly disinterested. Rules sounded like an alien concept to him, which further highlighted how different he was from Red. The Matthew Murdock that Frank knew was a stickler for rules, except when it came to the whole vigilante thing. But even then, Frank was well aware that Red followed a strict code. (He was _very_ aware of that.) 

“I have conditions,” Frank said firmly. 

“Then _sit_ , Castle,” not-Murdock suddenly said in a commanding tone. “And let’s have a proper discussion.”

Frank curbed the urge to immediately obey. That was his military training kicking in. And he didn’t like the fact that not-Murdock had spoken to him as if he were a dog to be at his beck and call. _Sit, Castle._ (And what did it say about Frank that his first instinct _had been_ to obey?) Frank grudgingly pulled out a seat and sat opposite of not-Murdock with his arms crossed. It was an action of defiance that he knew the other man could sense. As if on cue, not-Murdock’s lips curved into a slow smile. 

“What are your conditions?” he asked sweetly.

Frank wanted to growl. 

“First,” he said. “You can’t firebomb Murdock’s life. He _needs_ a life to come back to. So, you gotta play the role like you did when Nelson was here earlier, like what you’re doing now with Matt’s case.” 

“Agreed,” not-Murdock said, suddenly taking on a more professional demeanor. The other man was so flighty with his mood swings that Frank would have to be careful not to get whiplash. “Though not for the same reason,” he continued. “It’s simply easier to achieve my goals by playing a role that people are used to, and consequently not drawing unwanted attention.” 

Frank sort of grunted in response. Not-Murdock’s reasoning didn’t please him exactly, but he couldn’t deny that it made a lot of sense. Damn, this guy was as rational as Red. 

“I may need more coaching from you,” not-Murdock added after a beat. 

Frank made a face. “That presumes I know Murdock well enough to coach you,” he pointed out.

Not-Murdock’s smile grew positively silken. “Oh, you know him well enough,” he said, with disturbing certainty. “You may not want _him_ to know that, you may not even want to admit that to yourself, but you do _know_ him. You’re a very observant man, Castle. You’ve spent the entire night cataloguing the differences between us, and growing more and more disheartened at how _different_ we are, making it abundantly clear how much you want _your_ Murdock back. And yet, you find me fascinating all the same.” 

“Maybe you just give yourself too much credit,” Frank retorted. 

“It _is_ a weakness,” not-Murdock admitted, with an accompanying nod of false modesty. “But I’m rarely wrong.” The Devil’s smile was back. “What are your other conditions?”

Frank blinked. He hadn’t really thought that far. In his mind, this mission had only two objectives: (1) Get Red back and (2) Don’t murder this asshole in the process. Beyond that, Frank was flexible. 

“I see,” not-Murdock said into the silence that followed. “Your concern is only for my counterpart. How sweet. If that’s the case, then I have a condition of my own. Namely, you work for me.” 

Frank laughed outright at that; not-Murdock arched a brow. 

“Is that going to be a problem?” 

Frank stopped laughing when he realized that the other man was being serious. 

“We’re not partners, Castle,” not-Murdock continued. “I need help solving this problem, and I am hiring you to help me solve it.” 

“I have a job,” Frank said flatly. 

“Then quit,” not-Murdock said. “Working for me will be far more interesting, and I can compensate you very well.” 

“In case you haven’t had a chance to check Red’s bank account yet,” Frank told him. “He and Nelson aren’t exactly flush.” 

“I have other resources,” not-Murdock said patiently. 

Frank was running out of excuses. “And what exactly does this job involve?” he finally asked. 

“Doing whatever I say,” not-Murdock said, reverting to his sickeningly sweet tone. “And if you’re as morally gray as the Castle I know, we won’t have any problems.” He leaned forward slightly. “But more importantly,” he went on, dropping his voice. “I don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do to get _your_ Murdock back.”

Frank felt a slight chill go up his spine at those words. The other man was right. There was nothing Frank wouldn’t do for Red. As he sat there and studied the stranger with Red’s face, Red’s voice, Red’s body, Red’s intelligence and Red’s skills, Frank understood for the first time the danger he was truly in, the danger that _this_ Matt Murdock presented. This man was no altar boy. On the contrary, he was probably the truest incarnation of the Devil. Evil incarnate. Temptation made flesh. Frank couldn’t trust this Matt Murdock to _do_ the right thing. And Frank wasn’t sure he could trust _himself_ to do the right thing when he was around the other man either. Because not-Murdock had been right in every part of his assessment. Frank _did_ find him fascinating. Not-Murdock had exerted a strange magnetic pull on him from the moment he’d had his sword at Frank’s throat. 

He was fucked. 

“Do we have an agreement?’ not-Murdock asked, when Frank didn’t say anything else.

Despite his lack of a response, Frank could feel something shifting between them, reconfiguring into a different position, forming a new sort of relationship. They _had_ reached an agreement. 

“Good,” not-Murdock continued. “Meet me at the restaurant where we dined last night. Nine o’clock, this evening.” 

“And what will we be doing tomorrow night?” 

“Recon, Castle. Recon.”

* * * * *

Frank went to work in a semi-daze. He tore down more walls, worked up a good sweat, imagined not-Murdock’s face every time he swung his mallet. (Then he remembered not-Murdock’s ass, and his sinful mouth, and his perfect cock and he smashed the next block of concrete with even greater force.) He gave his notice at the end of the day, much to the consternation of his foreman.

“You know how many people are looking for a job, Castiglione!” the man had yelled at Frank’s retreating back. “And this is the thanks I get for sticking my neck out for you!” 

_Well, that bridge was burnt_ , Frank thought. But he didn’t feel too badly for the foreman. Like the man said, there were plenty of people ready to replace him. Frank went home and cleaned his weapons. Not-Murdock hadn’t given him very specific instructions other than ‘Meet at 9pm.’ He focused on the word ‘recon’ and chose his weapons and equipment appropriately. Around 7pm, he went to a diner for a meal. It was his ‘regular’ diner with Red and even their usual booth was unoccupied. Frank felt a swell of comfort as he slid into the familiar leatherette seat, reminding himself that everything he was about to do was for Matt, which meant that it would be worth it. Red was worth it. 

An hour later, Frank was headed to the restaurant. He didn’t bother with the dress code this time. He wasn’t here to eat. He also wasn’t sure how the management would feel about the small arsenal he had with him, but Frank was prepared to deal with that. Or maybe not-Murdock would deal with it. He seemed like the kind of guy who could smooth talk his way into and out of pretty much anything.

What Frank hadn’t counted on as he approached the same hostess from the night before was being recognized immediately and called by _name_. 

“Mr. Castle,” the woman greeted with a smile so practiced that it looked genuine. “Mr. Murdock is expecting you.” 

Frank had been surprised by the use of his real name. Not Mr. Castiglione, but Mr. Castle. Was not-Murdock out of his fucking mind? 

“This way, please,” the hostess said, gesturing that Frank should follow. Frank did.

He was surprised for the second time that evening when the hostess didn’t lead him to the main dining area or even one of the private dining rooms. She led him down a hallway to what appeared to be the offices of the restaurant. She knocked on the wide black double-doors at the end of the hallway. Frank heard a voice from inside and the hostess opened the door. 

“Mr. Castle is here, sir,” the hostess said. 

“Thank you, Annabelle,” not-Murdock replied, seated behind a massive black desk. “That will be all.” 

Annabelle stepped aside, allowing Frank to pass and flashing him another one of those practiced smiles. Frank stepped into the office and Annabelle closed the door behind him. 

“Swanky,” Frank said, in the most unimpressed tone he could muster as he walked to not-Murdock’s desk. 

“Too gaudy for my taste,” not-Murdock said with a sigh, reclining back in his chair. “But what can you do?” he added, with a theatrical wave of his hand. “It’s temporary.” 

“What are you doing here?” Frank asked bluntly, dropping his bag of equipment on the floor beside the chair where he sat down.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with you last night,” not-Murdock began. 

_Big surprise_ , Frank thought dryly. 

“This restaurant just isn’t a sort of headquarters for me in my world,” not-Murdock. “It _is_ my headquarters because I own it.” 

“Thought you were a lawyer,” Frank said sharply. 

“I am,” not-Murdock assured him. “I have my own law firm. A very successful one, I might add. But I’m also involved in other…businesses, and this restaurant is one of them.”

“A regular entrepreneur,” Frank commented. He didn’t anticipate not-Murdock’s delighted laugh. 

“Yes,” not-Murdock agreed, with a smile that was far too sharp. “You could say that.” The smile disappeared and Frank watched once again as a professional veneer fell across the other man’s face. 

Not-Murdock reached into one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out two wads of neatly stacked one hundred dollar bills. “Your payment for tonight’s services,” he explained, pushing the bills across the table. 

Frank took the two stacks and ran his thumb across the edges, counting the bills. He thought he hid his surprise well when he realized that each wad contained five thousand dollars. Ten thousand for a night’s work, which implied that ten thousand would be his daily rate. Not-Murdock was flush. How the fuck could someone from an alternate reality afford all this? 

“You rob a bank?” Frank asked, when he looked up. 

Not-Murdock laughed that delighted laugh again. “Not quite,” he admitted. “But something even better. You see, it turns out that my business associates in my world are also quite successful here, but not terribly original when it comes to hiding their money. So, I simply made…what shall we call it? Some select withdrawals?” 

“You _stole_ from your business associates?”

“Technically, they’re _not_ my business associates here,” not-Murdock pointed out. “Semantics are important.” 

“And this restaurant?” Frank demanded. “Did you steal it too?” 

“Nothing so gauche,” not-Murdock said with disdain. “Blackmail, Castle. The owner is in quite a bit of trouble with the IRS. Tax evasion is a terrible thing. He’s agreed to let me use this restaurant as a base for the duration of my…stay.” He shrugged. “At least, we’ll be well fed.” 

Not-Murdock steepled his fingers, head bent in one of those familiar-but-not-familiar gestures that Frank was still getting used to.

“This is an interesting time in the city,” he said, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “Now that Wilson Fisk has vacated his position – thanks to my counterpart no less – he’s left a void behind. It’s the right time for someone to step in and wrangle everyone else into obedience. It’s a pity I won’t be staying.” 

“Whaddya mean?” Frank asked. Not-Murdock’s talk was making him uneasy. “You’ve had a run-in with the Fisk of your world, too?” 

“No,” not-Murdock told him. “A run-in would be inaccurate. My law firm represented Wilson Fisk – _still_ represents Wilson Fisk. You see, Castle, I didn’t take down Wilson Fisk in my world – I _worked_ for him. You could even say that I was his _consigliere_. And when he was put behind bars by Captain George Stacy…well, I had no choice but to take over his business.” 

Frank was looking at the other man in shock. “You’re the _Kingpin_?” he asked in disbelief.

“ _Acting_ Kingpin, if you want to be technical about it,” not-Murdock corrected. “And doing a damn fine job, if I say so myself. Now, on to our business,” he said, drawing that subject smoothly to a close while Frank’s brain short-circuited. 

Not-Murdock pushed a piece of paper in Frank’s direction. Frank reached for it without thinking, grateful that his body was still capable of functioning while his brain had a meltdown. Glancing at the paper, he saw three typed addresses. 

“Your recon for the next few days,” not-Murdock explained to him. “Learn as much as you can about the following locations: the security, the number of guards, shift changes – that sort of stuff.” 

“And what’re you going to do at these locations?” Frank asked, folding the paper and placing it in his pocket. He’d already memorized the addresses. 

“One location,” not-Murdock said. “I need to narrow down the list, but that will take a little time. But once I have the correct location, you’ll be prepared.”

“To?” 

“To break in, of course. Though I’ll probably have to do that part myself,” not-Murdock conceded. 

“And what are you stealing?” Frank pressed. 

“Castle,” not-Murdock chastised. “How uncharitable of you to think that I’ll be stealing something.” He smiled. “But you’re right. I _am_ stealing something. Let’s keep that a surprise.”

* * * * *

Frank did the recon that was asked of him. Though he would never admit it to not-Murdock, he enjoyed it. The recon gave him focus, gave him purpose. He was on a mission again, one that _meant_ something to him. He also contacted Micro and asked him to provide blueprints to the three sites: points of access that he may not be aware of. No doubt not-Murdock had his own resources, but Frank didn’t want to be wholly dependent on the other man. Micro, of course, tried to find out what Frank was working on, but Frank wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want to get Micro involved. Lieberman didn’t even know that Frank had sort of teamed up with Daredevil on a semi-regular basis, much less had started seeing Murdock after hours. It’s not that he was trying to keep Matt a secret (okay, so maybe he was), it was more that he didn’t feel like he had anything to tell. It’s not like he and Murdock were dating, right? They weren’t…in a relationship. So dumping Micro with not-Murdock seemed wholly unfair.

At least, that’s the lie Frank told himself.

As for not-Murdock, Frank didn’t see him for the next few days, allowing him to conduct the recon in peace. Not-Murdock had given him a burner phone and the instructions to keep the phone with him at all times – and that was that. He assumed that the charade with Nelson and Karen was going well (not-Murdock held up his end of the deal, keeping Matt’s life in order). There were no Daredevil sightings at night (since Frank listened for those on the police scanners), but that didn’t mean not-Murdock wasn’t out and about. It just meant that he wasn’t wearing the red suit while he did it. 

After one full week of recon, Frank knew the schedules, shifts and security of the three locations by heart. He was ready for whatever the next step would be, but he hadn’t heard from not-Murdock since their meeting at the restaurant. So, one evening Frank found himself waiting for the other man, sitting in the dark like a stalker on one of Red’s chairs facing the kitchen and the entrance hallway, while the lights from the billboard outside washed over him. He knew he had no hope of surprising the other man thanks to not-Murdock’s hearing, and so he just waited. 

Around eleven, Frank heard a key turning in the lock and the front door opening. Not-Murdock didn’t bother with switching on the light. (Why would he?) Frank heard his steps down the entrance hallway. His breathing hitched for a moment as the other man came into view. The illusion was flawless. In Red’s clothes, with his leather briefcase and white cane folded at his side, Frank could almost believe…it made his heart ache. 

But then not-Murdock spoke, and the illusion was shattered. 

“Miss me, Frank?” 

The words were true enough, but not the tone, and definitely _not_ by the person who spoke them.

“Recon’s done,” Frank said gruffly. 

“Ah,” not-Murdock noted in understanding, placing his briefcase on a chair at the table, and his cane on top of the table. He loosened his tie as he approached the living area. “Your task is complete, and like a good soldier you’re awaiting your next orders.” 

Frank glared at the other man, remembering in an instant how much he hated him. And _why_ was not-Murdock always correct in his assessments? It almost seemed to be a gift, like those hyper senses of his. 

“ _Are_ there further orders?” Frank asked, in a tight, clipped tone.

Not-Murdock sat down on the sofa. “Not as yet,” he said, lounging easily. 

“Settling into your new criminal empire?” 

Frank knew it was a petty thing to say, but not-Murdock goaded him too easily. The other man’s presence alone seemed to be a trigger. 

Not-Murdock flashed him a smile. “You give me too much credit, Frank,” he demurred. “Thinking I could start a fledgling criminal empire while maintaining my façade as a do-good lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen.” 

“Couldn’t you?” Frank asked bluntly. It’d been a whole week. It wouldn’t have surprised him if not-Murdock had somehow managed to consolidate power in that time. Frank might even have missed the news on the grapevine; he’d been that wrapped up in his recon. 

“Your faith in me is heartening,” not-Murdock said. “But no, Castle, I have not embarked on any criminal aspirations, as tempting as they may be. Finding a way back to my world _and_ playing a do-good lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen is rather time consuming. That and…how did you put it? I’m not supposed to ‘firebomb’ your Murdock’s life?” 

“Haven’t put on the suit either,” Frank noted. 

Not-Murdock arched a brow. “Is _that_ why you’re here?”

Actually, it wasn’t, but it had been at the back of Frank’s mind of late. And now that Frank had not-Murdock to himself…

“You said you would play the role of Matt Murdock’s life –” Frank began. 

“And I am,” not-Murdock interrupted. 

“But not his _whole_ life.” 

“Is that your subtle way of telling me I should play superhero?” 

“It’s good for Daredevil to be seen. You don’t even have to play superhero,” Frank added. “Just be seen. It’s enough to let the city know that you’re around. The people, the criminals. Who knows?” Frank shrugged. “You might even have fun.” 

“On one condition,” not-Murdock said, in a voice that gave Frank pause. “You join me.”

* * * * *

They were standing on the roof of Red’s building. Although this was his idea, Frank was a little unsettled by seeing not-Murdock in the Daredevil outfit. It seemed wrong somehow, but it also looked good. That was the biggest problem with being around not-Murdock. The other man made Frank feel conflicted, and _he_ wasn’t the one with the Catholic guilt.

“What now?” not-Murdock asked him. He sounded bored already. 

“I dunno,” Frank said honestly. “I guess Red just sort of listens for crime, and follows wherever it leads.” 

“Listens for crime?” not-Murdock repeated skeptically. 

“You can hear everything, can’t you?” Frank challenged him. 

Not-Murdock gave him a sour look. “Are there particular crimes I should be listening for?” 

“Red’s not discriminatory,” Frank replied. “And we’re not collaborating on anything big, at the moment. So…” He shrugged. “It’s your show.” 

Not-Murdock looked away from him, head bent in a pose that made Frank’s heart rate quicken a little. When he looked up again, he said, “Try and keep up,” before leaping off the side of the building. 

“Asshole,” Frank replied, loud and clear.

* * * * *

Frank stayed on the ground after that. There was no way he could keep up with not-Murdock and his ridiculous parkour shit. But Frank could track him from the ground, aided by the fact that not-Murdock was making a conscious effort to be visible. He’d taken Frank’s words seriously and was allowing Daredevil to be _seen_ , much more than he (or Red, for that matter) would’ve allowed otherwise.

Frank quickly realized how different things were going to be with not-Murdock at the first crime scene they encountered, the tail end of a jewelry robbery. Not-Murdock tracked the perpetrators easily enough as they tried to make their getaway. For a change, Frank didn’t put a bullet through the robbers. Not-Murdock was leaving a trail of broken bodies behind him, but nothing that Frank found alarming. It was only when not-Murdock caught the last robber – the one that had given him the most trouble – that Frank intervened. 

“Wait!” he said, lunging for not-Murdock as the other man drew his sword. (Not-Murdock had found an empty sword carrier in Red’s chest and had strapped it to the costume, carrying his sword at his back. He’d brought the billy clubs too, but they seemed to be more of a curiosity to him than anything else.) 

“What?” not-Murdock snapped, as Frank grabbed his wrist. (Frank would swear that the Devil’s eyes had flashed red in annoyance, but that had just been the play of passing lights on the mask.) 

“Red doesn’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Kill people.” 

Not-Murdock was caught off guard by the statement, so much so that the thief was able to wriggle out of his grasp. Not-Murdock broke free of Frank’s hold. “I’m not _your_ Murdock,” he hissed, sword in hand.

In a move so swift that Frank had no hope of stopping him, not-Murdock arced his sword across the thief’s back, cutting the man down. The man crumpled to the floor. Frank couldn’t tell if the man was dead or not, but he didn’t think the wound was fatal. Before he could move, not-Murdock’s sword was at _his_ throat, the tip now stained with blood.

“You _never_ tell me what to do,” not-Murdock said, his voice lethal. “Is that clear?” 

“Crystal,” Frank bit out. 

The sword was removed.

Before Frank could even register what he was doing, he’d taken a swing at the other man. Not-Murdock, of course, was prepared and dodged the blow easily, striking back at Frank. After that, it was on. Frank relished the fight, even though he knew he’d be at the losing end of it. He and Red hadn’t fought like this since their very early days before the mutual respect they’d developed for each other, before everything else that had followed. Now, Frank could tell that not-Murdock was baiting him, testing him for weaknesses, trying to learn more about Frank’s skills in hand-to-hand combat. Frank wasn’t one to disappoint. 

They were fighting in a cramped space. The chase of the jewel thieves had ended in an alleyway (why was it always an alleyway?), the last thief now facedown on the street, bleeding from the sword wound on his back. Frank tried not to think about him or the fact that the man would need medical attention soon or risk bleeding out. Not-Murdock still had his sword and he’d already cut Frank twice. Shallow wounds. Clever reminders that not-Murdock could’ve already finished him if he’d wanted to. 

The fight ended in a familiar position with Frank’s back against a brick wall, the sword once more at his throat. He expected another cut, a deeper one this time. A warning, not a reminder. But not-Murdock, in his typically unpredictable way, didn’t do that. He reversed their positions, essentially pinning himself against the wall with Frank in front of him. The other man wasn’t even breathing that heavily, as though the fight hadn’t been much of an effort. Frank could see the exhilaration on the other man’s face, the delight of the chase and the adrenaline of crime fighting.

“This is the best exercise I’ve had all week,” not-Murdock said, sounding much too pleased. 

“I hate you so much,” Frank said in reply. 

“I know,” not-Murdock said with a laugh. He hiked his legs around Frank’s waist, and Frank pressed into him instinctively. God, he was so hard. 

Not-Murdock dropped his voice when he said, “But you would fuck me right now if you knew how to get into this suit.” 

Frank felt those words travel down his spine and settle somewhere in his gut where they roiled unpleasantly in their truth. He leaned forward, lips almost brushing against the other man’s. 

“All that hate, Frank,” not-Murdock said, practically speaking into his mouth. “It’s going to make the sex so delicious.”

Frank thought not-Murdock might seal that promise with a kiss, but the other man pulled away abruptly. “Play time’s over, Castle,” he said in a short, clipped tone. “Five-O are here.” He dropped his legs, uncoiling himself from Frank’s body and Frank stepped away, still surrounded by the haze of lust and want. 

“The night is young, Castle,” not-Murdock said, placing a hand on Frank’s chest. Frank could feel his breathing evening out, and his head slowly clearing. “Fight first, fuck later. Try and keep up.” 

And then the Devil was off again…


	4. Allies and Enemies

Frank let the pounding music wash over him. It vibrated through the floor and the walls until it seemed to be seeping into his skin through his pores. He couldn’t even imagine what this place must be like to not-Murdock, not just the pounding music but the writhing bodies, the sweat, the drugs, the hormones – all the other man’s senses must’ve been assaulted by the club. How did he cope? _His_ Murdock would stay away from a place like this or keep to its fringes to manage the sensory overload.

Not-Murdock, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed. He sliced his way through the dance floor, not even being jostled by the moving bodies. Although he was wearing his customary dark glasses and carried his white cane, not-Murdock wasn’t even playing at being blind. The cane looked ornamental. Only Frank knew it was a deadly weapon. 

Frank followed behind his boss. He’d learned to think of not-Murdock as his employer, as each envelope stuffed with cash forcefully reminded him. His gaze dropped a little lower. Not-Murdock favored the sharp, silk suits when he was off duty. Off-duty meant that he wasn’t playing the role of Matthew Murdock, the do-good lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen or Red’s crime fighting alter ego. Not-Murdock was being his true self, the self that Frank had gotten to know…intimately. 

Not-Murdock glanced behind him as though he could feel Frank’s attention shift to his ass (and with those heightened senses, he probably did), but he didn’t break his stride. Still, he caught Frank by surprise when he stopped suddenly and Frank almost walked straight into him. Not-Murdock broke their would-be collision with a hand on Frank’s chest, his white cane resting against his hip. His right hand traveled up Frank’s chest, following the outline of the lapel of Frank’s black jacket until it stopped on Frank’s shoulder. (Not-Murdock had asked him to wear a suit tonight so that Frank would blend more easily in the club. The fact that he had a handful of suits now hanging in his closet was another influence of not-Murdock’s.) The other man leaned forward so that he could be heard above the din. He spoke directly into Frank’s ear when he said, “Focus, Castle.”

“Who’s being distracting now?” Frank retorted, mildly annoyed at being caught off guard. 

Not-Murdock laughed at that, and this was the one difference Frank preferred in him. Not-Murdock laughed easily, sometimes too easily. He lived life in a seemingly carefree way that was alien to his Murdock. Frank wished his Murdock laughed more; at least, around him. 

The hand on Frank’s shoulder traveled higher so that not-Murdock had him in a half-embrace. Not-Murdock’s other arm was snaking around his waist, the cane now tapping against the back of Frank’s leg. 

“Tell me, Castle,” not-Murdock said, still speaking into his ear. “Do you dance?” 

“Not like this,” Frank replied. 

But even as he spoke, Frank was aware of half-mirroring not-Murdock’s actions so that his own hands had come to rest on the other man’s waist. He pulled not-Murdock closer and the other man obliged. They swayed together, a parody of a traditional slow dance in the middle of a thumping nightclub. When not-Murdock tilted his head, Frank instinctively looked away. He could feel the slow curve of not-Murdock’s smile against his skin. 

“I told you,” Frank said sternly. “We don’t do that.” 

“You don’t do that with _him_ ,” not-Murdock corrected. His words caressed Frank’s ear. “But before this is over Castle, you _will_ kiss me.”

Frank swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise up his throat. He didn’t know what to feel about not-Murdock’s declaration or the other man’s certainty. Conflicted, he supposed. Not-Murdock had made him feel conflicted right from the start. Unsettled, too, because he couldn’t shake the suspicion that there might be a kernel of truth in the other man’s words. 

Not-Murdock stepped away, untangling himself from their embrace. He kept his hand on Frank’s chest as he leaned in and said again, “Focus, Castle. Fight first –” 

“Fuck later,” Frank automatically finished. 

In the strobing lights of the club, Frank could see the sharp smile on not-Murdock’s face. It was true. They fucked. A lot. And as much as Frank reminded himself that it was just fucking – true hate sex, the kind he’d never actually experienced with _his_ Murdock – sometimes his traitorous mind thought that it could be more than that, too. 

As not-Murdock turned away and Frank fell into step a few paces behind him, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d been classically conditioned. He had to get not-Murdock back to his world as quickly as possible. There was no telling what would happen between them the longer they worked together, the closer they stayed in each other’s vicinity. Not-Murdock was a dangerous man and Frank had always been drawn to danger.

* * * * *

Not-Murdock lead them to the back of the club, to a corner nook on the left side of the dance floor. With the plush seating and semi-privacy, it was definitely one of the VIP spots. Frank immediately noticed how it was quieter here. There was some sort of insulation that muted the sounds of the club, although the vibrations still passed through the floor.

Not-Murdock slid into the semi-circular booth and settled at the center of it. Frank was still standing beside the booth when a waitress materialized by his side, placing two drinks at their table that he couldn’t remember not-Murdock ordering. Not-Murdock flashed her one of his 300W smiles and gave her a generous tip. Frank suspected that she’d be their personal waitress for the rest of the night. When she turned away, she also gave Frank a sly smile that Frank grudgingly returned. Of course, she was pretty. The staff would have to be attractive in a place like this, but even if they hadn’t been in a ritzy club, not-Murdock seemed to be able to spot a hot woman anywhere. It was a sentiment that he knew Nelson shared as well. 

Frank was wondering what role he was supposed to be playing tonight (bodyguard? date?), when not-Murdock discreetly informed him by tapping the place beside him. Feeling the classical conditioning kick in, Frank also slid into the booth, one arm coming to rest behind not-Murdock’s back as he reached for his drink. 

Macallan. 

Damn, not-Murdock had good taste. 

“You could’ve told me I’m supposed to be your date,” Frank lightly accused as he put his glass down. 

Not-Murdock inclined his head towards Frank. “You are whatever I want you to be,” he said, so smugly that it made Frank want to wipe the smirk off the other man’s face. “Besides, I thought the suit was a giveaway. You clean up nicely, Castle.” 

Frank sort of half-grunted at the compliment. He could feel a slight flush creeping up his neck (he _hated_ compliments, even as he told himself that compliments from not-Murdock shouldn’t matter anyway).

“Tactically, that’s not very sound,” Frank informed the other man, choosing to ignore the compliment. 

Not-Murdock laughed one of his easy laughs. “I like to improvise,” he said, reaching for his own drink. 

Frank briefly glanced away. Improvise. His Murdock liked to do that, too. When he looked back again, he said calmly, “Who’s the target?” 

“Relax, Castle,” not-Murdock said, dropping his free hand on Frank’s knee and giving it a squeeze. “Target’s not here yet.” 

“You are such a godamned tease,” Frank muttered, not a little venomously. 

“A tease is just that, Castle,” not-Murdock replied. The hand on Frank’s leg moved higher, stopping at the juncture where thigh met pelvis. He dropped his voice lower when he said, “I _always_ follow through.”

Frank shifted his leg, tapping down on his growing arousal. Beside him not-Murdock chuckled, fully aware of the effect his words and actions were having on Frank. But then he turned his head suddenly and Frank automatically tracked the action. Not-Murdock wasn’t ‘looking’ at anyone, per se, but sometimes – like right now in the more challenging environment of the club – he would focus physically on a target. It was a very rare tell. Frank had learned long ago that Red didn’t have a ‘front,’ not in any traditional sense of the word. Matt’s radar sense spread all around him, all 360 degrees. Even when you were at Red’s back, Red might as well have been looking straight at you. 

Now Frank followed the direction of not-Murdock’s ‘gaze.’ It was loosely focused on the booth opposite them on the other side of the dance floor. A group was occupying the table. Frank’s vision was blocked by the dancing bodies, but he knew that not-Murdock was cataloguing his own private list of information. 

“Target?” Frank said again in a clipped tone that meant business. 

Not-Murdock must’ve recognized the tone because he gave Frank a slight nod. “Felicia Hardy,” he finally said. “The pretty platinum blonde surrounded by the group of men.” 

“And how do you know she’s a platinum blonde?” Frank asked dryly, even as he caught a glimpse of the white blonde hair amid the group dressed in dark suits. 

“It says so in her file,” not-Murdock replied, equally dryly. “That, and I can smell the peroxide from here.” 

Frank grinned in spite of himself. He took another sip of the Macallan. “And who’s this Felicia Hardy?”

“The Black Cat,” not-Murdock answered. “Or _Le Chat Noir_ in my world. Felicia’s closer to her French roots there.” 

“The thief?” 

“The _world-class_ thief,” not-Murdock corrected. “It’s funny how these alternate universes work,” he mused. “Motivations may change, personality traits may alter, but basic skill sets remain the same. Felicia and I have a…contentious…relationship in my world, but I gather she and your Murdock are on better terms.” 

“And what did _you_ do to Felicia Hardy in your world?” Frank asked, his accusation plain. 

Not-Murdock had the good grace not to deny it. “I assassinated her father to prove my worth to Wilson Fisk,” he said simply.

“Yeah, I can see why Felicia would hate you.” Frank sighed. 

“It’s also how I became Fisk’s second-in-command,” not-Murdock added. 

“And eventually the Kingpin,” Frank finished. There was an unmistakable note of resignation in his voice. 

“Cheer up, Castle,” not-Murdock said, patting Frank on the thigh. “I didn’t murder Felicia’s father here. And from what I understand, Felicia should be happy to see _your_ Murdock. She betrayed a powerful criminal organization for him and that says something.” 

Frank wasn’t surprised. “Red’s got a talent for bringing out the good in people,” he said. 

“Even world class thieves,” not-Murdock agreed with his sharp devil’s smile.

* * * * *

They killed time at their table while Felicia conducted her business. At least, that’s what Frank assumed she was doing since he couldn’t see much from their vantage point and he sure as hell couldn’t hear anything. He drank his Macallan and didn’t object when not-Murdock ordered another round. Drinking on the job wasn’t smart, but Frank didn’t reprimand himself. It was another reason why he had to get rid of not-Murdock as soon as possible. The other man brought out all sorts of bad habits that Frank had thought he’d long flushed out of his system. _His_ Murdock would’ve called him out on his behavior; not-Murdock _encouraged_ it.

“That’s our cue,” not-Murdock suddenly said. He downed the last of his whiskey and Frank did the same. They slid out of their booth in perfect synchronicity.

It was alarming, some part of Frank’s brain distantly noted, how well he and not-Murdock moved together, how they’d learned each other’s patterns in a relatively short period of time. It was disturbing because he was in sync with not-Murdock in a way that he hadn’t managed to achieve with Red, whom he’d known for much longer. Maybe he and Red wanted similar things, but their methods were different and their philosophies an incompatible clash. He and not-Murdock on the other hand? Frank buried that train of thought as the two of them walked across the club, not-Murdock once again slicing through the moving bodies on the dance floor. 

Two of Felicia’s bodyguards blocked their path once they arrived at Felicia’s table. Frank inwardly smiled. The two men may have towered over both not-Murdock and himself, but Frank knew that they were no match for them. Hell, not-Murdock could cut them down before Frank even blinked. (And really, that thought should _not_ make Frank so hot and bothered.)

Unperturbed as always, not-Murdock simply leaned forward and said to Bodyguard No. 1, “Your boss will want to see me.” 

Bodyguard No. 1 glanced behind him, finally allowing Frank to get a good look at Felicia Hardy. Not-Murdock hadn’t been kidding about the platinum blonde hair. Felicia’s hair was so pale, it practically glowed white in the dark lighting of the club. Her face broke into a sly smile when she saw not-Murdock. 

“Matthew Murdock, attorney-at-law,” she greeted, waving her bodyguards aside. 

“Felicia Hardy, world-class thief and aspiring crime lord,” not-Murdock answered, stepping past Felicia’s men. 

Felicia’s laugh was warm and sultry, reminiscent of her moniker. “Aspiring, Matt?” she teased, patting the seat beside her in the same way not-Murdock had done for Frank. “You wound me.”

Not-Murdock accepted the invitation while Frank sat on the other side of him along the semi-circular booth, a respectful enough distance away. 

“I like the suit,” Felicia observed, casually running her hand down not-Murdock’s jacket. “Very sharp.” 

They were former lovers, Frank immediately realized. It was obvious in Felicia’s tone and her body language, in not-Murdock’s insinuation that the two of them were on ‘better terms.’ That was another thing Frank had quickly learned about not-Murdock – the man was the master of understatement. ‘I work in the private sector’ translated to ‘I’m the Kingpin of Crime.’ 

“Who’s your friend?” Felicia asked, finally sparing a glance in Frank’s direction. 

“Frank Castle.” 

“The Punisher?” 

Felicia couldn’t hide her surprise, just like she couldn’t hide the wonder from her tone. Frank could hear the respect there, maybe even a sliver of fear. She gave him another once-over, a more thorough, calculating one this time. 

“You clean up nicely for a mass murderer,” she finally said, offering Frank a drink. This time, Frank declined. 

“That’s what I told him,” not-Murdock said in mock surprise.

“You’re keeping interesting company these days, Matt,” Felicia noted, returning her attention to him. “Are you here as Matthew Murdock?” she asked lightly. “Or are you visiting me as the Devil?” 

“It’s funny you should mention that,” not-Murdock smoothly replied. “Because I believe you have some unfinished business with the Devil.” 

“Do I?” Felicia said, with her own brand of false surprise. She leaned closer to not-Murdock when she spoke again. “The way I recall it, the Devil owes me for not betraying him to Black Spectre.” 

“You cut and run,” not-Murdock told her, slipping at arm about her shoulders. Frank watched sourly as Felicia melted easily against not-Murdock. “But that’s what a good thief does,” not-Murdock continued. “And like your note said, I do think of you fondly.” 

Felicia smiled a catlike smile, one hand reaching up to cup not-Murdock’s cheek as she titled his face towards her for a kiss. Frank thought he might retch, but he didn’t look away. It was a deep, long kiss and Frank tried not to imagine what it would be like to have not-Murdock’s tongue curling around his own. That was something he would _not_ experience, no matter how talented not-Murdock was with his sinful tongue. When the kiss ended, Felicia was still smiling, her thumb running across not-Murdock’s bottom lip before she leaned forward and nipped it. Finally, she sat back. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked. 

“I have a job for you,” not-Murdock said.

* * * * *

“I thought _you_ were going to break into the facility,” Frank pointed out, as they were suiting up later that night.

It was one of their ‘Daredevil’ nights. Not-Murdock had agreed to keep doing the patrols as long as Frank agreed to the condition that he’d established on the first night, namely, that Frank would join him. Truthfully, Frank didn’t mind. For all his protests, he knew he had to keep an eye on not-Murdock, lest the other man decided to go on a murder rampage if some shitbag criminal pissed him off. Frank was well aware that not-Murdock was capable of it. The irony was not lost on him that _he_ was the one preventing Daredevil from killing. Oh, how the tables had turned.

“I am,” not-Murdock answered. 

Frank paused in checking his magazines. Then it dawned on him. “Felicia’s a decoy,” he stated. 

Not-Murdock nodded, looking much too self-satisfied. 

“She trusts you,” Frank accused. “What if she gets caught?” 

Not-Murdock shrugged. “She’s too good for that,” he replied. “And if she does get caught, then she’s not as good as she thinks she is. Give her your recon.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“Oh, I am _quite_ believable, Castle,” not-Murdock said. “Besides, what we’re stealing is too valuable to fall into Felicia’s hands. Never trust a thief.” 

“You still haven’t told me what it is we’re stealing,” Frank called after him. Not-Murdock was headed to the side of the building. Any minute now, he’d do one of those fancy flips that left Frank in the dust. 

“And we’re going to need more help than _Le Chat Noir_ ,” not-Murdock continued, ignoring Frank’s last statement. 

Frank sighed. “Who are you going to recruit now, boss?” 

“The Hand.” 

WHAT?!!

* * * * *

_“They’ll never work with you. You’re their sworn enemy.”_

_…_

_“They've tried to kill you. Many times.”_

_…_

_“They’ve tried to kill your friends.”_

_…_

_“They murdered the love of your life and then they resurrected her. And then_ she _tried to kill you. And then she died…again_.” 

_…_

_“You nearly died with her.”_

_…_

_“They murdered your father-figure, Stick, the man who taught you how to fight.”_

_…_

_“You can’t –”_

_“Did I mention that in my world I’m also the Western Sun of the Hand?”_

Frank had given up after that. Of course, not-Murdock had his own private ninja army. 

_“Allies and enemies, Castle,” not-Murdock had said. “You’d be surprised how often they’re one and the same.”_

Given Frank’s experience, it wasn’t all that surprising. It explained why he was on the roof of a building in midtown, his scope trained on the conference room of the high-rise across the street. Not-Murdock was inside that conference room, surrounded by men and women whom Frank presumed were all ninjas. That’s what The Hand was, right? Some fucked up ninja death cult that wanted to rule the world?

To his chagrin, not-Murdock had refused to wear a wire so Frank didn’t have any audio to accompany his visuals. He was relying on not-Murdock’s body language, the body language of the people in the room and the handful of signals that he’d agreed upon with not-Murdock on whether to intervene. The hand signals probably weren’t necessary. It would be pretty obvious if shit hit the fan. 

As it was, not-Murdock was standing at the head of the conference table in one of his un-Matthew Murdock-like sharp suits, his cane lightly resting between his two hands. He was speaking to his audience. When he was done, the men and women around him stood up (Frank’s finger gently rested against the trigger of his rifle), but all they did was file out of the room leaving not-Murdock alone with the Japanese man at the opposite end of the table. 

After a while, the Japanese man stood up as well and approached not-Murdock. Frank had a clear view of him as he crossed the room. Unlike his companions who had been dressed in formal business attire, he was wearing traditional Japanese clothes. Frank could read lips well enough to recognize that the man wasn’t speaking in English. It should’ve dawned on him sooner that not-Murdock would be fluent in Japanese. Western Sun of the Hand, indeed.

The man stopped in front of not-Murdock and bowed slightly. Not-Murdock returned the bow. Frank put his rifle away and packed his gear. He’d see not-Murdock later that night. As it was, he knew that the other man was late for court.

* * * * *

It was not one of their ‘Daredevil’ nights, which explained why Frank was cocooned in silk sheets. He never spent the night with not-Murdock either, but he found that he lingered more. There was no pressure with not-Murdock. This was sex with no strings attached, without the complications of feelings.

Yeah, right. 

Frank believed in old world romance, in the grand love stories. That’s what he and Maria had had, why she had been the love of his life. It also meant that he was terrible at the casual sex thing. There were people who could divorce sex from emotion. Frank Castle was not one of those people.

Not-Murdock had a separate bedroom behind his office at the restaurant, and this was where the two of them spent most of their downtime. Frank preferred it to Red’s loft. It gave him a measure of distance, a semblance of objectivity that set not-Murdock apart from Red. Not-Murdock was a means to an end. The endgame was _his_ Murdock and getting him back. Frank had no doubt that Red was working on the same problem from his end. He wasn’t worried about him. Red was smart and resourceful. And if he’d woken up in not-Murdock’s shoes as not-Murdock suspected, then he’d also have all of not-Murdock’s resources at his disposal, which Frank gathered was quite a lot. Hell, Red would probably find a way back to this world before Frank and not-Murdock followed through on their big mysterious heist. Of course, that was assuming Red didn’t dismantle not-Murdock’s criminal empire first or tried converting The Hand into a private army of do-good ninjas. Frank wouldn’t put it past him to do either of those things. Frank may have been about the endgame, but Red got too easily distracted.

“Your thinky thoughts are distracting,” not-Murdock murmured. “Tone it down, Castle.” 

Frank glanced to his left. Not-Murdock was sprawled on his side of the bed, one arm thrown carelessly above his head. He had that ‘just fucked’ look about him, which was an accurate description. It was a look that Frank liked, especially since he was the cause of it. It was a look that was different on not-Murdock because he’d rarely seen _his_ Murdock so unguarded. Not-Murdock just didn’t give a shit. 

Frank knew that now was the moment to leave. He should go. Just get up. Get dressed. Walk out of there. 

He didn’t budge. He focused on the ceiling above him and the shadows cast from the lights of the city. 

“What is it?” not-Murdock asked, with an exasperated sigh.

Frank thought about not answering, but he could also tell that not-Murdock wasn’t about to let the matter go. (Could he read not-Murdock that well already?) He weighed the pros and cons of lying to the other man. While he loathed being caught in a lie by Red, with not-Murdock he found that he didn’t give a shit either. He opted to lie. 

“How’d you know The Hand would work with you?” 

Frank felt not-Murdock shift. He could feel the other man’s thoughtfulness and he wondered for a moment whether not-Murdock would call him out on his lie. He knew Red would. After a while, not-Murdock spoke.

“The Hand are a ruthless and efficient organization,” not-Murdock began. “But that also means that they’re a practical organization.” He turned on his side so that he was facing Frank. “You were right when you said my counterpart is their sworn enemy. He and his friends have done a good job of disrupting The Hand’s operations, but The Hand can’t be stopped. The organization is too old, too deep-pocketed. But _your_ Murdock has left them in disarray. There’s a power struggle going on right now.” 

Frank was drawn to not-Murdock’s voice and the even cadence of it. Despite himself, he shifted onto his side as well, mirroring not-Murdock’s action. 

“Did you see the man I spoke to at the end?” 

“Yeah.” 

“His name is Otomo. He’s the one in charge to clean up the mess your Murdock left behind.”

“Lemme guess. You know an Otomo where you come from.” 

Not-Murdock smiled. “Otomo is _my_ second-in-command.” 

He stretched a little lazily, settling back on the bed contentedly. The hard edges had been filed away and not-Murdock looked uncharacteristically soft. Frank resisted the urge to reach out to him, reminding himself that he wouldn’t have done that for Red either, much as he would’ve wanted to. Frank thought that not-Murdock’s last comment marked the end of their conversation, but to his surprise the other man continued. 

“He’s more than that, really,” not-Murdock said. He sounded almost melancholic. “Otomo practically raised me.”

Frank nearly sucked in a breath. Not-Murdock had never divulged any personal information about himself before. Whatever not-Murdock chose to talk about was calculated, and always related to the mission at hand. 

“After Stick was murdered, The Hand took me in,” not-Murdock explained. “They adopted me and brought me to Japan. Otomo raised me there and continued my training. When I came back to New York for university, he came with me. And he’s been with me ever since.” 

There was so much to unpack in what he’d just been told that Frank didn’t know where to begin. He zeroed in on the familiar – Stick. 

“You said Stick was murdered. By whom?” 

Not-Murdock chuckled, a low, derisive sound. “The Hand, of course,” he replied. “Stick was a vigilante in my world, but he didn’t go by a ridiculous name like ‘Daredevil.’ He was a constant thorn in The Hand’s side, and eventually they made him pay for it. Stick was training me to be like him, to take over for him when he could no longer do what he did. He saw potential in me when no one else did. The Hand saw the same potential, so they finished my training. What better way to stick it to their old adversary than to steal his apprentice and turn him into one of them? Pun intended.” 

As not-Murdock spoke, the melancholy in his tone had shifted, transformed into something that approached bitterness. Was Frank imagining it? Was that self-loathing he was hearing? Possibly regret? 

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Frank said aloud, before he could think better of it.

“What way?” not-Murdock questioned, sounding so wholly disinterested that Frank could almost believe that he’d misinterpreted not-Murdock’s tone just moments before. 

“What you said before,” Frank went on. “About motivations changing, but skill sets staying the same. That’s it,” he said with understanding. “Stick’s death. That’s the one event that changed the course of your life. But it’s not too late,” he said, the earnestness in his voice completely alien to him. “Red believes in second chances, in redemption.” _Hell_ , Frank thought. _Red believes in_ me. “It’s never too late,” he said aloud.

Not-Murdock’s expression hardened. Gone were the soft edges that Frank had longed to hold, replaced now by the thin, severe line of displeasure. 

“I’m not _your_ Murdock,” he reminded Frank in a low, lethal voice. 

“You don’t have to be,” Frank told him. This time, he did reach out, grasping not-Murdock by the wrist. “But you also don’t have to be who you are.”

Not-Murdock moved so quickly that Frank didn’t have time to brace himself for the attack. Before he could counter, not-Murdock had straddled him, pinning him down on the bed with one hand wrapped around his throat. Frank was still holding onto the other man’s wrist, which just happened to be attached to the hand on his throat. Not-Murdock squeezed lightly, enough to make breathing more difficult and Frank’s grip on his wrist also tightened. He was prepared to break the hold. With his other hand, not-Murdock reached behind him and grasped Frank’s cock. He stroked it a few times, his grip still slick from their previous round of fucking. Frank could feel himself swell in response to not-Murdock’s touch. 

“I’m not some pet project for you,” not-Murdock sneered. “Some poor soul that you can save. That’s not what the _Punisher_ does.” 

Frank grunted when not-Murdock sank down on him, his free hand automatically coming to rest on the other man’s hip to anchor him. Not-Murdock leaned over him, one hand still around Frank’s throat as he braced himself on Frank’s chest. 

“Focus, Castle,” he said in the devil’s voice. “I’m not the objective. And for god’s sake, _move_!” 

And like a good soldier, Frank obeyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Word of Warning: Updates are sporadic. S-P-O-R-A-D-I-C. But they might be fun? :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Marvel and Netflix. No offense is intended; no profit is being made.


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